The Catharsis Session
by Xyliette
Summary: An unconventional series of events set in current canon for both shows. He promised he would never leave her.


A/N: For a Secret Santa exchange. Enjoy-

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~  
The Catharsis Session  
- The Seven Mile Journey  
~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

The day is fit for a funeral, cloudy, dark, a promise of rain lingering above the heads of hundreds. All are here to bear witness to a life wrought with turmoil and elegance- that of one Bizzy Forbes Montgomery. There are flowers, black umbrellas waiting for the impending showers, cars crowding the street, most with waiting drivers.

Addison hadn't wanted to attend, but the matter wasn't all that simple. There were certain things that were expected of her here, in her hometown. There was a decorum, a level of class, that needed to be upheld. She had a brother and a father to sit next to while they all pretended to be more upset by this travesty than they actually were.

She hadn't known what to think when she got the call, well the third call, because she was still tired of Archer and his antics so she ignored the first two. But when the phone was ringing hour after hour in the middle of the night she hoped for something this pressing.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

_Addison flips over onto her side for what feels like the tenth time trying to let her neurotic mind rest and ignore the buzzing vibration on the bedside table, but she can't. And at this particular juncture it feels best that she just get it over with, whatever it may be, so she can get back to being asleep like she had planned when she drank almost a bottle of wine on no dinner._

"Whatever it is, Archer, I'm not interested," Addison insists, voice coiled with a tiredness only a surgeon can understand.

"Mom...is dead," the line crackled.

Addison instantly felt a blanket of cold water rush over shoulders, and gripped her phone a little tighter, ear pushing impossibly close to the warmed plastic.

"She died," Archer repeats. "A few hours ago."

"How?" Addison asks impulsively. She wants to know exactly what happened, in what order, so she can assess if this was preventable in any manner.

The silence on the other end of the line gives her all she'll ever need to know on the subject matter.

Archer finally mutters, "It was an accident," like his childish heart is banking on Bizzy, for once, not being as selfish as humanly possible.

"Where's the Captain?"

"The study, I'd imagine," Archer says quietly. He isn't there, yet. Addison can tell. He's probably off in London, or the streets of Beijing, doing what he does best- Archer.

And all at once, shivering out of her covers, Addison can foretell precisely how the rest of the story unfolds. She will be doing all the planning, all of the ordering of caskets and whatnot. The Captain won't have any part in this, he'll drown his aching in alcohol and leave the rest to his children. And Archer, being unreliable when perfectly equipped to handle situations, will merely sit on his hands, face forlorn, and watch as Addison pulls the strings, orchestrating the end.

She sighs when she hangs up, digging her palms into her waterless eyes. It's going to be a long week.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

_She took a commercial flight across the world to Connecticut, decided on a taxi out out to the estate, trying to keep things as normal as possible for as long as possible. She had one drink on the flight, then read old journals. She called and checked in on the practice on her ride out, and apologized for leaving on such short notice for business no one—least of all Naomi and Sam—were privy to._

And now she's here, the doorstep underneath her heels, and instantly wishing she had chosen a finer hotel to stay at then this museum of lifetime horrors.

But it's much too late for that. Archer has her inside, under his wing, almost immediately. He pours her a drink, sits her next to the roaring fireplace, and slowly begins to break.

He talks of their past as though it wasn't riddled with errors, he screams about unfairness, about injustice- but neither of those, Addison is positive, crossed Bizzy's mind. She was too unhappy, for too long. Or something. Addison had never been good at reading her mother, she blamed their lack of relationship for her judgment follies.

"I don't want to do this, Archer. Not now," Addison interrupts, a fairytale about Christmas, his recollection skewed by a broken heart.

She's loved. She's lost.

Holding onto those pieces, replaying them, it doesn't help. 

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

The speaker, someone she's never seen before, and yet still a close family friend somehow (a wasp conundrum for another time) is rambling on about Bizzy's great contributions to society, about how much she will be missed. There are aunts and uncles she recognizes from the yearly holiday party, but there are also representatives from all of her charities, from all of her places of giving, begging the Montgomerys to please, please not forget they exist next year when their grant needs to be renewed.

Addison couldn't care less.

She checks her watch for the fifteenth time, takes a stern elbow to the ribs from Archer, and tightens her hold on her handkerchief. Leave it to Bizzy to have the world's longest, most boring and unemotional funeral in the history of all funerals.

She wants to march up to the podium, push up her long black sleeves and say, "Can't we all go home now?" Because it's been three hours of this nonsense, three hours of Archer trying to hold it together on her left, and the Captain bawling like a baby on her right. It's very unsettling, to be the stoic one in the bunch. She needs to tell Archer that he was essentially a mistake, a screw up in Bizzy's world, and remind her father, that in the grand scheme of things- he was kind of nothing to his wife, other than money and a lifestyle.

But like every other urge in her Connecticut era, it's not the time or place.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

After what feels like an eternity, she clings to Archer's hand as a small group of close faces she remembers bury Bizzy in the dirt, dignified as Addison thinks she would have wanted it to be. After everything, this she can give her, and it isn't much. As the crowd breaks apart, wandering to their cars, making small talk and wiping tears, Addison catches a glimpse of someone she hadn't seen earlier in the day.

"Derek?" She calls out ahead of her, dropping Archer like a ton of bricks and walking sturdily forward. "Derek!"

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"You didn't have to come," Addison says again, sipping her coffee at the tiny diner they found twenty minutes ago. She didn't want to go back to the estate and Derek wasn't going to join that soiree if his life depended on it.

"Archer called, I thought I'd be polite," Derek says warmly, shoving the basket of greasy fries toward her side of the table. "How are you holding up?" he asks cautiously, watching her the entire time.

"Oh, you know." Addison dismisses, then drops her head. "I'm going crazy," she reveals with a small laugh that catches them both off-guard. "I think I am literally losing it."

"So...just a normal visit back home?" Derek smiles, noting that she has no appetite.

"Some...stuff happened, before. She visited me, in L.A."

"Bizzy in Los Angeles," Derek laughs loudly, letting it reverberate off the dingy walls. "That was a sight, I'm sure."

"Yes- well, yes. But I...don't feel anything. That's weird right?"

Derek shrugs. He's seen a lot of people in mourning, been there to reveal the news more than he'd like to claim, and lived through it himself. To each their own, and with Bizzy, it was always complicated. He knows. He knows everything. "It was a beautiful service."

"It was long," Addison corrects.

"She would have liked it."

"Yeah," Addison nods, agreeing, before stealing a fry and twirling it through the dense air.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"I can't go back in there," Addison tells him, looking at the monstrous gate that lines the property. The task is too daunting, and Archer is waiting, he's called countless times, and he can't find the hors d'œurves, one of the waiters spilled on someone's blouse. But she arranged it, let them handle the moment.

"Where are you staying?" She asks a minute later, watching the clock in his rented car tick rhythmically.

"The city," Derek says. He knows where she's going with this. "Shall we?"

"Only if you don't mind a little company for the road."

"I'd welcome it," Derek tells her confidently.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"When do you leave?" Addison asks, twenty minutes into their ride to New York.

"Monday," Derek replies, letting his hands slide over the wheel. This could be a scene from any one of the last years of their marriage. It's a little awkward, and she's quiet, and he feels like fiddling with everything from the seat to the radio.

His skin, though, is tingling for a completely other reason.

He wanted to see her, that was part of the motivation. But then, when Archer called, after the last few years, he couldn't imagine forcing her to go through this, with them, all alone. She needed a savior, even if she wouldn't admit it. And here he is, helping her with the escape route.

"I promised Nancy I would stop by before I left, see everyone since I never come visit anymore."

"You stopped seeing them a long time ago, Derek," Addison says. His family is big, and loud, and annoying, and filled with too many women, but they love him and they want him and they idolize him. He's so lucky, and he never understood. It always made her want to wrap her hands around his throat and shake. "Amelia is doing well."

"Good, I'm glad...for her," Derek says, flipping the station to something lighter. He never much cared for his baby sister, she was too cavalier with too many things for his liking. He never wished her ill, he just didn't want to be a part of whatever mess she was busy making- but Addison could never help herself.

"Kathleen is sick," Derek tells her, something he himself just learned last week when he called to tell his mother he was coming home, for reasons he would not reveal. They don't think he will be in town until tomorrow and for that he is grateful.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Addison responds, nose crinkled. She never much cared for Kathleen, but just the same she still felt a connection.

"She's a fighter, she'll beat it," Derek nods, turning hard into a corner, causing them both to shift in their seats, Addison gripping the door tighter.

"Yeah," Addison concurs. Kathleen could beat anything, including Addison's desire to be any part of their family functions. "I...miss them."

"They miss you," Derek replies, probably too quickly, he guesses from the look of disdain on her face.

"They hate me."

"Not all of them," he says carefully. Now that the secret is out, there's really no refuting their history. He almost wishes he would have just owned it while they were married, it would have saved them many a fight. And Addison would have been upset, she would have overcompensated, tried to win them over, but then she would have taken solace in him. They could have a been a team, instead of him lying to her until it became so commonplace that he didn't feel an ounce of guilt. "I'm going there tomorrow-"

"No," Addison declines before he can finish. No and no. This visit could get so much weirder.

"Right."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"How is Meredith?" Addison asks, over their dinner, well his dinner and her drinks. They're at an old restaurant they used to love, good Chinese, good service, and a great location- only a few blocks from their old home. She thinks it should be more difficult, seeing him again, talking about their old life, visiting their old haunts. But it isn't. It's warm and comforting to have him here, to be in this city of relics, to have his voice dancing over the rim of her ear.

"She's...in Europe," Derek tells her. Well, she's almost in Europe. After trying for a baby for two years straight, she gave up, threw herself back into work, "the only family she has", and churned out an amazing opportunity to go explore herself as a surgeon, as a doctor, and as a person. He wouldn't let her pass it up. "We're in different places, I think."

"That's unfortunate," Addison relays through the rim of her wine glass.

"How about you?"

She's not about to tell him about Pete, or Sam, or any of that mess so she simply shakes her head. "I think..." she stops herself from saying that there's no one for her, because that wasn't true then, and probably isn't now. "I have a cat."

"A cat?" Derek laughs, welcome for the change of topic and the hilarious idea of Addison caring for an animal.

"Milo," Addison nods, finally plowing a chopstick through the noodles in front of her. "He belonged to a patient of mine..."

"Do you remember when we had to watch Nancy's dog, Tanner?"

"The Hotdog Thanksgiving," Addison mourns.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

_"Derek!" Addison shrieks through the house, an apron wrapped around her Thanksgiving dress. It's unfitting- the wooden spoon in her hand, the garment tied around her waist. And her husband thinks it is oh-so hilarious to watch her burn everything she touches. "Derek!"_

"Yes?" Derek asks sweetly, popping into the kitchen, watching his wife exasperated in her high heels, the stove with bubbling water overflowing onto the open flame below.

"The damn dog ate all of the rolls, the only edible thing we had Derek! He took them off the counter while I was assuring your poor broken wrist mother that I had everything under control!"

He can't help but laugh, dodging the never used before oven mitt in his general direction with a scream about how this isn't funny and about how his mother hates her. This is her opportunity, he knows, but he also knows she doesn't stand a chance in hell.

But she doesn't, so he races to the front door, pecks her cheek, and throws on his coat promising to go find more rolls. He returns after half of the family has arrived with only a few bottles of wine no one will appreciate except Addison.

After they tear into the semi-raw turkey, and wade through the lumpy potatoes, Derek announces that he will help the kids roast some hotdogs, and Addison retreats to their bedroom to hide. 

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"If you would have gotten more rolls like you said you would-"

"Bread was not going to salvage that meal, Addie."

"I guess," Addison agrees, biting down on her lip. It's kind of funny now, looking back. Though at the time it was nothing short of utterly humiliating. "I can cook now."

"Really?" Derek challenges.

"Things change, Derek."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"I should probably be getting back soon," Addison tells him after dinner, as they stroll through the groups of people crowding the street. They come to a halt at an intersection and his gaze catches hers.

"You can stay here, I can take you back in the morning. I have to head out that way anyhow."

"That'd be nice, but Archer will throw the tantrum of all tantrums. He's already called a million times."

"Screw Archer," Derek instructs. God, he never hated anyone half as much as he did Archer. Though he reasoned he was just trying to protect his baby sister, he made Derek's life miserable. "He's a big boy, let him take care of himself."

"Archer doesn't know how to take care of himself," Addison reminds Derek, feeling her hand being caught in his, as he suddenly changes his mind and drags them the other way down the street towards Central Park.

"Can you imagine how much easier our marriage would have been if our families could have gotten on board?" Derek jokes wistfully.

"No kidding," Addison laughs softly, looking at the familiar sidewalk, falling into a comfortable silence as dusk begins to take over the city.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

They're not completely alone when he finds the courage to ask. There are still a million people strolling the paths, the hotdog vendor hasn't hung his hat up for the day, and the clomp of horse hooves are never far off. But he feels secluded enough, he feels that everyone around them has their own agenda.

"Accident," Addison replies, just the same as she has all week. "It was an accident."

But he sees through the thin veil of confidence. It wasn't an accident, and it wasn't a stroke or something of the like. The ceremony was closed casket for a reason. "Addison," he says, stopping her midway through her hike through the grassy hill, "there's nothing you could have done."

"I know," she tells him assuredly. It wasn't her fault. No one could have helped. On and on, it's all she's heard all week from Archer who is busy plying himself with excuses for the war waging within.

"I'm sorry...that it ended that way," Derek tells her, teetering from one foot to another. He knows her whole story, he spent very many nights with her in his arms showing rare vulnerability about the singular thing that always hurt her the most- her family. He knows about her starving for attention, he knows about their indiscretions, all of their skeletons, all of the secrets. And this is merely the icing on a very dysfunctional cake.

"Me too," Addison says softly, looking over his gentle features as they contort in an effort to understand. Under his scrutiny she suddenly feels self-conscious, and pulls at an invisible string on her black sweater.

He wraps his arms around her without asking if it's necessary, if she may want a hug. He buries his own head next to her neck and breathes deeply taking in an indescribable scent of pure Addison. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Addison replies, loosening into his hold. Her hand comes up to play with the curls on the back of his head, twirling and soothing. "Thank you, for this, for coming...I needed some sanity today."

He doesn't reply. He doesn't let go for what feels like forever, until after she finally allows the tears to come to her eyes. He doesn't ask if it's about life, about Bizzy's passing, about the overwhelming feelings of regret, remorse, and repentance he himself is feeling.

"You promised you'd never leave," she whimpers, minutes later, drawing herself away and catching her breath.

He knows exactly which specific setting she is speaking of- after a particularly brutal Christmas visit out to the estate that ended with them fleeing in the middle of the night after it took everything in him not to lay hands on her father. He swore he'd never leave her with those people, on her own, to suffer, not as long as he could protect her from their hurt.

"I'm here now."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Derek nervously shifts, taking a deep breath of the salty air swarming around him. He can hear waves crash constantly, a wall of sound. Addison's house is lit, he figures she must be home, especially after calling Sam and having him peek in her window to make certain he didn't drive all the way down here to surprise no one.

He had wanted to tell her he was coming, but thought better of it. An ambush gives her less time to over think the situation. It was convoluted. Meredith was finally away, their separation muddled and unpleasant. And he and Addison had been emailing, more frequently since Bizzy's funeral and their subsequent adventure many months ago, but they hadn't been able to ever be in the same town at the same time.

She had a case in Seattle while he was gone for Thanksgiving, back to his mother's house. And he had been in Los Angeles for a conference when Naomi said Addison had taken a vacation to somewhere even more beachy than her backyard.

But it was Christmas Eve, and he was lonely, and admittedly nostalgic. He wanted her crazy glass ornaments on a huge tree, and hot chocolate, and buttered rum, and store bought apple pie. So he called Richard, and Mark, and Sam and then jumped in his car to try and sort out his head. And after over a thousand miles on I-5 and a day and a half in the car he was no more straightened out than he was when he got in the driver's seat.

He just knew, that despite everything, he wanted to spend this holiday with her, here. Wherever it led, or did not lead. Whether she kicked him out, whether she already had guest, whether she was appalled and embarrassed to see him again, he had to try.

She answers on the second trill of the doorbell and greets him with a large, suspecting smile. She pulls him in for a tight hug before asking what he was doing in town, more specifically, in her entryway.

"Christmas makes you want to be with people," Derek says.

"People you love," Addison teases, tapping his arm playfully before quickly ushering him into her home. "How have you been?" Addison asks casually, turning toward the living room, following her new favorite sound.

"I've been-" Derek stops, watching her bend over a scoop a tiny baby out of a inactive swing. "How are you?"

"Tired," Addison nods thoughtfully. "But good, really good."

"I can see," Derek smiles, basking in the glory of her mother mode. She's all smiles and relaxation. It looks like she was born to wear the role- hair twisting every which way, clothes slightly disheveled though still intensely Addison, house just a touch out of order. It pushes past her boundaries, makes her give up the façade. He could watch all day.

"I was just about to order dinner, I assume you're hungry."

"I could eat," Derek replies, watching her reach for the phone of the counter with one hand, her other safely holding the infant close to her chest.

"Like always," Addison slips in before the other end is picked up and she can relay their requests. She doesn't ask Derek what he wants, because she knows. Just like she knows he's going to be staying the night without asking permission. But what she doesn't know is why he's really here. She imagines, given their last correspondence, that Meredith has left, that Mark is busy, and Derek's tired of pretending like he has any other friends in Seattle.

He's lonely, she deduces. And had she the time of day to feel anything, she'd have to admit that even now she misses the company of the holiday season, at least with someone who understands what is happening.

"How's the trailer treating you?" Addison asks with a smirk, sliding stealthily onto her own couch, careful not to wake her child.

"You know the saying, you can't go back."

"Yes."

"There's raccoons, Addison. And it's cold. Bitterly cold. And situated way too far from work." He stops just short of saying that he doesn't know why in hell he'd ever pick to live there, because they both know why.

"I'm sad to hear that," Addison smiles.

"I'm sure you are. Now, tell me, who do we have here?" Derek asks, peeking over the edge of the white blanket in her arms. He sees hair, dark. And that's about it.

"Henry," Addison tells him, "my son." She shakes her head for a second, thinking of how to explain. "After Bizzy...after everything...I wanted to be a mother, I've always wanted to be a mother. I didn't want to wait anymore for the perfect time, or the perfect guy, or the perfect city. I just wanted Henry."

"Henry," Derek repeats, rolling the sound over his tongue. Henry seems awful plain for any name Addison ever picked when they discussed children, but it fits. Her in this state, with these people, it is perfect. "Hot chocolate while we wait?"

"Yes, please," Addison replies, throwing her feet up onto the coffee table and sinking back into the couch.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"This isn't quite the Christmas I had in mind," Addison tells him the following morning, lugging an always sleeping Henry into his bassinet in the living room.

"Unconventional, you think? Spending Christmas with your ex-husband?"

"No, not that. Just," Addison pauses, toying with the drawstring on her dark green silk pajamas. Derek being here actually feels oddly normal in the grand scheme of things. "I haven't celebrated Christmas like this in a while. It's weird to look at the tree with all its lights and to have sand outside instead of snow."

"Meredith always hated Christmas," Derek says sadly, looking over at Addison for a nod of approval when Henry starts to squirm in the tight swaddle Addison has managed. He frees the baby's warm hands from their binding, and then carefully lifts him, inspecting every single feature he can find.

"Hates," Addison corrects.

"Excuse me?" Derek mumbles, not bothering to look up at her, transfixed by the tiny human in his arms. He likes him, he likes this feeling, kind of hopes he can draw it out for as long as Addison will allow it.

"Hates, present tense. You said Meredith always hated Christmas. She isn't dead, Derek."

It's debatable, he thinks. But that would take too much energy, and Henry is far too enthralling to tear himself away from. "Coffee, can we still have holiday coffee with a sandy Christmas?"

"Of course," Addison acknowledges, disappearing for a minute before returning with his black coffee, one sugar.

He relinquishes Henry, not knowing how to drink coffee and not scald the poor baby, and is satisfied when Addison lays him between them on the couch. Derek sips, breathes in the rich aroma, and then smiles. It's the very same coffee he gave her their first morning in the trailer, the same coffee he has been ordering and drinking every morning for almost five years. Apparently, so has she.

"I always knew there was something you liked about Seattle."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~-~_**


End file.
